A/N Hello, here is my belated but sweet (I hope) Christmas gift to everyone who has read/reviewed/followed/fav my story ... Thank you so much! xx
Finally he moves quietly to the guest room, finding within all the items he requested Dembe bring over. He walks around the bed, himself sitting on the edge looking out into the night. It's not much of a view but none the less he prefers to do his thinking while studying the distance; tonight because of the surrounding houses he'll have to make do with the middle distance.
A few hours later he hears her bedroom door open. He waits to see where she will go, if she's looking for him or needing something from another area of the house. She approaches his door and because it's not all the way closed he can hear her soft footsteps. She stops outside the door, listening for signs of movement in much the same way he did.
"Come in Lizzie" he says loudly enough for her to hear but not so loud that he will startle her. For several moments she remains still but then he hears her weight shift and the door begin to open. She stops just outside the door and he rises from his seated position, turning towards her; waiting, listening.
Eventually she asks him in a small voice, "Do you think that's true?" Her tone is heartbreakingly vulnerable, almost too broken for him to bear.
"Do I think what's true?" He asks in response trying to sound neutral.
"That neither of us is destined to get what they want out of life?" She says in the same desolate tone.
"Lizzie" he says his voice now betraying the emotion he feels. He quickly moves around the bed towards her but before he can reach her she slumps against the door frame, slipping to the ground, tears flowing freely; her hands partially masking the expression of deep sorrow on her face.
He sinks to the ground beside her, pulling her onto his lap and into his arms "Lizzie sweetheart" he says as he holds her, kissing her hair repeatedly and soothing her as she continues to mourn everything that has transpired: her broken marriage, her troubled life, her extended isolation.
She holds him tightly, her arms now around him, her hands balled into fists holding his clothing. She's holding him like he might vanish from her sight if she doesn't keep a tight grip. He marvels at this; at feeling wanted and needed by her. He holds her firmly so she feels secure, enjoying the scent of her hair and the feel of her skin.
"I was so lonely without you" she almost exhales some time later.
He tightens his embrace on her, "I'm sorry my love, I'm sorry" he says repeatedly into her hair, kissing her head and caressing her.
He continues to console her, even when her tears have subsided and her breathing slows and regulates. He knows she's not sleeping as she continues to maintain her tight grip on him.
"Why don't we get to bed?" He says softly into her hair.
She doesn't loosen her grip but she sits up slightly. He lifts her gently from his lap, placing her on the floor and rising to his feet. She's so thin now he could probably lift her from that position and carrier her but he doesn't want to make assumptions.
Carefully he helps her up and meets her eyes. In her gaze he sees her fragility, her weariness and the depth of feeling she has for him. He steps closer, kissing her temple and letting his lips linger there, both of them enjoying the feelings he is communicating. He lifts her then, carrying her back to her room.
He sits her on the bed, taking a seat beside her and reaching for the water and pain medication, she takes it without argument. When she's taken them he takes her hand and they sit quietly for a while, before her exhaustion and the strong pain meds making her eyelids heavy. He helps her stand, pulls back the cover and waits until she gets in. She's more or less fully dressed, as is he, but undressing would take too much energy and move them beyond their realm of comfort for that moment.
He is considering whether to walk around the bed and get in or just to sit there and watch her, but she makes the decision for him, moving across the bed and pulling back the cover; inviting him in. He slips in beside her, wrapping her in his arms, enjoying the heat of another person in his embrace. But the truth is; she's not just another person. She's all that he's wanted for as long as its mattered: as long as he's known her.
When she awakens she's still wrapped in his arms, he's awake already, grazing her back with his finger tips, kissing her hair, breathing deeply, enjoying her warmth, her scent. She tries not to alert him to her conscience state, enjoying his tenderness but she guesses he already knows; he's too astute to miss the signs.
Her head is tucked underneath his chin; partially resting on his chest. She lifts her own chin, stretching towards his neck and breathing deeply; savouring his scent; that seems to have intensified in the warmth of their sleep. He doesn't exactly groan but there is the faintest sound of satisfaction emanating from deep within his chest. She tucks her head back down and closes her eyes again, relaxed for the first time in as long as she can remember.
"Good morning" he says in a deep and seductive voice. She smiles in response. He can feel her smile against his body and he smiles, leaning down to breathe her in again, running his lips through her hair, leaving a trail of imperceptible kisses. It feels intimate, like something you'd only do with someone cherished and she lets him do it repeatedly, a fact he can barely believe. "Can I get you anything?" He asks.
"I'm ok" she says back. "I think I might take a shower". She stretches again and he finds her movements alluring, her long lean frame pressed against him. When she relaxes and sits up he follows. She groans, her body reminding her of the damage she sustained only hours before.
"Ouch" she says.
"I'll get you something for the pain while you shower" he says in response; brushing her hair from her shoulder so he can see her face. She looks over her shoulder at him and nods in response.
"Thanks" she says as she stands and walks into the bathroom. He hears the shower start and begins to rise himself when the bathroom door opens again.
"I think I need your help" she says, the hint of a blush on her
cheek. "Of course" he says, making his way to her, helping her to take off her shirt and turning her to gently remove the dressing he'd applied the night before. She's standing in her bra again and he runs his hand over the bare skin of her uninjured shoulder. She shivers, more from desire than from the chill. She turns and looks him in the eye, holding his gaze before soundlessly retreating to the bathroom.
He stands there for a moment, remembering the feel of her skin, its softness and its warmth, before leaving the room. He feels a deep desire for her but he wants to do this right, at her pace.
He makes his way to the kitchen, casting an eye over the groceries Dembe has supplied and making tea for both of them. When the tea is ready he returns to her bedroom, she's still in the bathroom so he knocks on the door.
After a few seconds delay, in which she tightens her hold on the towel she has wrapped around her body she says, "Come in". He enters holding their cups.
"Tea?" He asks and she smiles in response, moving towards him and taking the cup that he offers.
"Thank you" she says.
He pulls out the bathroom stool again. She takes her seat without a word, knowing he wishes to reapply the dressing. She closes her eyes, enjoying the heat of the cup in her hands and the feeling of being cared for. He doesn't sit this time but brushes her damp hair aside while he tends her wounds. He frowns at the bruising that has emerged since the previous evening; he wants to protect her from more harm.
When his task is complete he gently runs his finger tips from her hairline to the edge of the towel. He hears her breathe deeply and spurned on he walks around her maintaining contact. When he stops in front of her he moves his hand to her face, running his thumb along her bottom lip, watching as it opens marginally from the pressure. She watches him closely, wondering how she made it so long without him; starved of his scent, his presence, his essence; when now it seems so essential.
Finally he steps back smiling; placing his hands in his pockets and tilting his head as if he can't quite believe the turn of events.
After a few more moments he say, "Breakfast is in 15 minutes, I trust you'll be ready" Then he moves away, finally retrieving his tea cup.
"Yes, thank you". She responds.